


take you to church

by rime



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 3rd sem spoilers, Confessional Sex, M/M, PWP, Semi-established relationship, emotions if you squint!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/pseuds/rime
Summary: “You summon me out of the blue and ask to meet here… You’re quite the character.”Ren casts about quickly. No one else is here, and if he knows the area well, which he does, no one’s going to come here. No one would come here for anything but mischief this late at night, anyway. Good.“Is there a... purpose,” Akechi says cautiously, “to this invitation?”(Ren and Akechi get in the fucking confessional. Spoilers for P5R.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 227





	take you to church

It’s late. 

“You summon me out of the blue and ask to meet here,” Akechi says. “You’re quite the character.” 

But his eyes are searching, probing. Ren shudders. No, it’s too early for that. He bites back the shudder, keeps back his gaze level. 

“So I did,” he says instead, and casts about quickly. No one else is here, and if he knows the area well, which he does, no one’s going to come here. No one would come here for anything but mischief this late at night, anyway.

Good.

“Is there a... purpose,” Akechi says cautiously, “to this invitation?”

“We came here once before,” Ren says. “Remember? You asked --”

“If I’d done something to offend you,” says Akechi darkly. “You really lapped that up, hm, Joker?”

“Don’t call me that,” Ren says, automatically, for no reason. And then: “Get in here.”

“Don’t call you that?” Akechi says, with curiosity, but Ren isn’t listening. Not as he takes Akechi by the hand and drags him into the cramped little booth and shuts the door behind them. And then, in the pitch black, voice full of amusement: “Ah.”

  
  
-

  
  
He’s never thought about what the inside of a confessional might look like. Now he knows. 

It’s basically a big wooden box, he supposes. A box with two compartments. It’s... probably unusual for both people to be in the same compartment. A thin strip of light creeps through the floorboards. It’s just enough to see Akechi’s face, pale and steady, watching him slowly. Examining, really. Stepping forward and grasping his jaw, tracing it slow. 

Every time Akechi does this Ren’s heart thrills like it’s the first time. Does he like danger so much? Or is it just _him?_

No time to think about it now. Not when --

“You know,” Akechi says, “even on that day, I wondered. If you were thinking of this. But of course --” and with a twist of his hand he drags Ren closer, by the jaw -- “you wanted me even then, didn’t you, Ren?”

He tries to talk. What emerges is a strangled sound. 

“Go on,” says Akechi. It’s barely more than a growl. “Be honest. As you so love to be.”

“Of course I wanted it,” Ren breathes, and that makes Akechi’s eyes go wide in feral delight. “Wanted to have you here, on the floor. Wanted to -- mess you up.”

“Even while you knew,” Akechi says, voice wondering, an edge of something bleeding through. Something dark. “Even while I plotted your death, you still dared to imagine?”

Of course he did, Ren thinks. Who wouldn’t?

“Well,” Akechi says. “I wanted it too, then. But we’re making up for lost time now. Of course, I didn’t precisely want what you described.” 

That pretty, stuck-up detective prince -- he’d wanted to destroy his perfect composure, hadn’t he? But seeing his true colors once and for all… Ren finds he doesn’t quite want that anymore, either. Now he wants more. There’s no time to figure out exactly what he wants, not when Akechi is doing that for him: decisively throwing him down to the floor of this cramped booth and straddling him with a confidence that makes heat flare in his gut, almost oppressively. It’s predatory. It’s -- good. Oh. Then what he wants isn’t to break, but to be -- 

“I think I know what you want,” says Akechi. His eyes gleam. He bites the finger of his glove. In one quick motion it’s off: fallen to the floor, carelessly discarded.

It isn’t right. Ren shakes his head. Looks meaningfully. 

“You want these on?” Akechi, quick to catch on as always, is incredulous -- in the brief moment before his gaze resolves into understanding, mirthful, wicked. “You’ve thought of this too. Haven’t you?” 

_Caught me._

“Fine,” says Akechi. Reaches for it back, snaps it on finger by slender finger. Now he grabs Ren by the hair forcefully and _twists_ , shoving his face into the floor cheek-first. He barely bothers undoing Ren’s belt before dragging his pants down past his ankles in one savage motion -- Akechi never wastes time. Ren hears him spit; feels a hand wander past the small of his back, and down -- 

“We’ll do this your way. Tell me exactly what you want. We’ll call it a _confession._ Do you like that?” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “The leader of the Phantom Thieves, confessing his crimes?” 

_You like that,_ Ren wants to say, but doesn’t. He can’t. Verbal thought has left his mind. Maybe it wasn’t there to begin with. All he knows now is sensation: gloves stroking, twisting just right, working him open, prying him apart. His back arches, he shudders -- and then Akechi stops and says, with deadly intent: “Tell me.”

“Fine,” Ren says. His breath is shaking. “Fine. I thought about -- you,” he manages. No surprises there. Keeps going. “Even then. Different places. Different... ways.” 

“Really,” Akechi says. He’s trying not to betray it, but there’s a faint edge of surprise. Ren can tell. “Go on. What exactly did you imagine?”

Well, he’s imagined a lot of things. Some of them Akechi is probably less interested in hearing. Anything sentimental, for example. Ren picks through the options, discards, finds the safest one. 

He can’t _believe_ this is the safest one. 

“Fucking me,” he says. 

“That’s _obvious,”_ Akechi snarls. His hand, formerly so attentive, stops moving and grabs the back of Ren’s neck in a vice-like grip instead. “You can do better than that, _Joker.”_

“Don’t call me that,” Ren pants, through it all, somehow. That isn’t what he wants to hear. Roughness he can take -- no, welcome -- but Akechi needs to say his name. That’s important.

“Fine,” Akechi says. “Ren.”

“There’s more,” Ren says, because if he doesn’t say these things now he doesn’t think he ever can. “Fucking me -- in the attic. In the bathroom at -- Leblanc. In Mementos, where no one could hear, or Jazz Jin, on an empty night, over the table, or -- huh?” 

Because Akechi has let go of him and is staring like he’s seen a ghost. He looks… very slightly flushed.

“Uh,” says Ren. He scrambles to his knees awkwardly and turns to face Akechi. Rubs his throat sheepishly. “Was that… too much?”

“You’re serious,” Akechi says, voice low. “You really imagined those things.” 

His eyes are wide. _I’ve surprised him. Is it really so surprising?_

What does _Akechi_ think about? Surely it’s not any… tamer than this? 

It’s sort of odd to think about, but some part of him had assumed... well, had assumed that Akechi has much the same fantasies as him, really. Otherwise what would explain the chemistry they have? The way they fall together through the nights? He shakes his head to clear his racing thoughts and sits up. Can’t get distracted now. 

“Your gloves,” he says instead, dislodges from his throat. “Take them off.” 

“Particular even now,” Akechi says, but he acquiesces. His eyes never leave Ren’s. That gaze directed at him, only at him -- Ren is pretty sure Akechi has never looked at anyone else like this, and _fuck_ if that thought alone doesn't spike heat through him. “And why?”

“I want to feel them,” Ren says, “your hands,” and before Akechi can think twice, understand what he’s doing, he’s pushing _him_ against the wall, tugging down Akechi’s slacks, unlacing his belt with precision.

Akechi, taken aback, hisses: “What are you _doing?”_

_Figure it out, detective,_ Ren thinks, and takes him into his mouth in one smooth motion.

God, he lives for this. 

Akechi does not like losing control. Ren knows this. But over the weeks and months Ren has come to know more, too: the motions of his tongue that pry those chipped little sounds from Akechi, the just-right rhythm as he licks and mouths that has Akechi digging his nails through Ren’s unruly hair, shuddering, biting back noise -- 

Ren wants to goad him, even now. Wants to challenge: _You’re not the only one capable of shutting someone up._ But he doesn’t have the option, occupied as his mouth is, and besides: this is more effective. Gazing up at Akechi with this drowned-lash stare, cheeks hollowed, eyes fluttering -- it never fails to make Akechi _feral_ , his jerks violent, an effect speech couldn’t possibly have.

Two-way street, though, because seeing Akechi like this, unravelling, spurs _him_ on in turn, makes him more attentive, single-mindedly pursuing Akechi’s pleasure with every deft motion of his tongue. He’s good at it, too. He’d better be at this point. 

“Ren,” Akechi says, weakly, fingers scrabbling through his scalp. “Ren.”

It’s a game. They both know it. A game they’re playing, even now. But the game requires push-and-pull, requires sacrifice, and Akechi can’t win unless he’s willing to lose a little, to allow little thin cracks in the armor he can’t remove. 

Hissing is good, but not enough. He needs to scream. 

Akechi isn’t willing to lose at all. He tugs his hair. But joke’s on him: that only spurs Ren on further. His mind spins. Flustering Akechi like this, sucking him off like this… has he even known it? He’s wanted to do this for so long. He’s imagined it. In the attic of Leblanc. In a public bathroom. Right before one of his televised appearances. Dishevelled, tousled Akechi. But he’s never dreamed of doing it in a _cathedral_ , in an utterly un-soundproofed confessional booth, and now it’s all he’s going to dream about.

“Ren,” says Akechi. Something about the way he says it -- Ren looks up at him then, through wet, fluttering eyelashes, and the sight makes his heart seize. He looks thoughtful. Far away. Vulnerable, even.

Is this what he looks like when no one’s looking…? 

He only has the moment before Akechi sees him seeing, and Ren engraves that moment in memory, holds it fast to his heart. Then it’s over, and Akechi’s looking straight at him with murder written on his face. He yanks his head with ferocity, shoves him closer, and _snarls_ : _“Get back to it.”_

_Fuck._ Ren does. The price for paying too-close attention. He’s sloppier with his mouth now, since Akechi’s motions are more frantic, his restraint evaporated; he’s fucking Ren’s face with abandon, maneuvering him like a toy. It’s not lost on him that this is meant by Akechi, perhaps, as punishment? But joke’s on him again: he likes it. 

Then Akechi stops, and shoves him off, down to the floor. 

_What._

Ren looks up dazedly, string of spit swaying from his mouth. Then he swallows, hard, because Akechi is looking at him with violent intensity. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Akechi. Breathing hard, trying not to show it. “Do you want it to end there?” 

“Oh,” says Ren, because he hadn’t thought about where he wanted this to end. Virtually any end would be fine, probably. But Akechi’s gaze is boring into him. He’s struck with the inexplicable urge to -- move away from him, somewhat, in this cramped booth, but -- they’re past that point now, aren’t they? 

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “Where do you want it to end?”

Akechi is looking at him still. Looking like he’s… prey. Ren blinks, suddenly becomes aware of how he must look: hair rumpled, glasses askew, thin line of spittle dripping from still-parted lips. Christ, he’s debauched. It’s not like Akechi is doing any better. For all his composure a faint persistent flush has crept onto his cheeks that won’t go away. His eyes are dark with intent, dark enough Ren can barely meet them, but meet them he does. 

“Do you want to know,” Akechi says instead, “what I’ve thought about?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He doesn’t need one. Instead he crashes to the floor and shoves Ren down with all his might, smashing his face once again into the wood, holding him flush by the hips. It’s so fast -- the sound of spit, the sudden feeling of being entered without warning -- it’s so aggressive. It’s so _him --_

“Let me confess,” Akechi says. His voice is dark and desperate and a hint deranged. It’s -- strained. “I thought about -- having you, just like this. Ridiculous. At first I dismissed it as… a purely physical attraction. But then --” and here, almost lazily, he rolls his hips just right, leaves Ren shuddering -- “you couldn’t leave me alone, could you, Ren? You kept seeing me. Hanging out _,_ so to speak _._ Interfering with my... _plans_. It wasn’t purely physical, not anymore.” 

With that Akechi moves. 

It’s not gentle. Of course it wouldn’t be. It’s never been gentle, not in one of their fantasies, either of their fantasies -- 

“I thought about it,” Akechi hisses, "for _months_ on end." It's like it’s being torn out of him. Every sentence is punctuated with a thrust, a roll of the hips that leaves him dizzy, desperate. “Fucking you senseless. How could I not?”

_Oh,_ Ren thinks. 

“Every place you mentioned, every filthy scenario -- how long has it been, Ren?” This comes out choked, emotional, but Ren can barely process anything he’s saying. Not when he’s getting fucked like this. “Since you saw me wanting you?” 

_You’re just like me._

It was never purely physical. That’s the truth Akechi can’t see. Won’t see, rather. Or sees and won’t admit. That’s fine; it’s all fine; everything’s fine, because all that matters is that he _doesn’t_ _stop_ , that he keeps thrusting into that spot that has Ren breathless, sweat-drenched and stuttering, gasping Akechi’s name.

“Fucking you until you beg me to stop. Until you scream for me. Until you _cry._ "

A full-body shudder racks him. _Please._

But no. That’s not the right answer. Ren knows the right answer, even if he can barely say it, can barely string a sentence together because he’s shuddering and coming undone with every one of Akechi’s thrusts, even if it’s such a fucking lie:

“Never,” he says, because it’s the right answer, and he’s still playing. 

“That’s right,” Akechi says. Or gasps. It’s a miracle either of them can talk at all. “Defiant to the end. That’s the Joker I like to hear.” 

“You talk too much,” Ren gasps, and on a sudden, daring impulse, spits, “ _Crow.”_

Akechi stops moving completely.

“Call me my _name_ ,” he snarls, and this is the most unhinged Ren has ever heard him. Not in the usual way. It’s desperate. It searches for something. Something Ren wants to give, if only he’ll let him. 

“Akechi,” he says instead, wildly. Akechi needs to _move,_ he can’t -- he can’t just stop like this, here, not with Ren hanging by a thread, what is he --

“Say it,” Akechi hisses. “No more games. Let me hear you.” 

Ren thinks -- no, fuck this, he’s done thinking, he _surrenders_. 

“Akechi,” he whispers. Tongue heavy in his mouth. Mind hazy. “Akechi.” 

“More,” Akechi says. Pants, even. He still isn’t moving. Thank god he’s unravelling too. He’d better be, with what he’s doing to Ren. “ _More._ ”

“You’re so good,” Ren slurs. Gone utterly. “So good. Akechi -- I can’t -- ” This white-hot heat clawing its way up from his gut, through his limbs, sparkling below his eyelids -- how is he supposed to -- 

“Please,” he says, voice ragged, because he means it now, he really does. It’s taking all of Akechi’s self-control to play this game too; he knows it now, feels him flush against him, trembling, so barely restrained, but they _will_ play, won’t they, they’ll abide by these unspoken rules -- “please, just --”

“Please _what?”_

“Fuck me,” Ren says, “until I can’t stand, until I scream, beg, please, Akechi, just -- just fuck me already, fuck, I can’t take this, _anything_ \--”

Akechi’s eyes, so hungry for so long, ignite.

He’s been pressed face-first to the floor all this time, head yanked back uncomfortably, and he’s kinda liked it, but now? Akechi grabs him and -- _oh, shit --_ flips him over without preamble, clambering over him and folding up his legs in a frenzied rush. Right. That’s -- wait a second. This position. What is Akechi...

“Hey,” Ren murmurs hoarsely. “Not the usual, huh?”

Akechi can’t even hear him. 

“Careful what you wish for, _Joker_ ,” he says, eyes dark, voice dark. Fuck -- _fuck._ He doesn’t deserve this. “I want to watch you fall apart -- want to hear your screams.”

This is going to be the death of him. He could probably make him come, just like that. But he’s got to work for it, otherwise what’s the _point_ \-- 

All coherent thought leaves him utterly when Akechi drives in once more, with a vicious thrust that leaves him breathless, gasping against splintered wood, fingers scrabbling for support, something, anything. Akechi won’t have it, even as the confessional booth creaks. He knocks Ren’s hands away coldly, pinning them down with his own. 

“Be loud for me,” Akechi whispers, as Ren thinks helplessly, head knocking on the floorboards, that he could never _not_ have been, that there was never a chance he’d be anything else. “Ren -- _loud.”_

Ren is. 

He’s never been louder in his life. He sobs and he wails as Akechi hits that bright spot within him that makes everything shudder, lips babbling _please_ and _don’t stop_ and Akechi, Akechi’s name. He’s so loud. Everything is sensation now: that hot roil of heat building inexorably within him; eyes blurring with tears as Akechi fucks him hard and fast; the sounds of creaking floorboard, wet sounds and panted breaths, hopelessly obscene -- as well as a voice he doesn’t recognize, once his own, now a stranger’s, pushed beyond its limits, shattering, breaking -- 

He shatters as he sobs, as great heaving movements rack him; Akechi, strangely enough, holds him through it, watching him silently, intently, with an expression on his face Ren can almost name but is afraid to, it looks so similar to love. 

-

They grab their clothes and winter coats in a flurry of motion and silence that’s a strange blend of awkward and companionable, as it always is. As they’re leaving, though, Ren can’t help himself. 

“How many others, do you think…” 

Akechi finishes the thought for him. “Have defiled a cathedral like this?” He says it perfectly nonchalantly. Like he does it every day. “We’re not the first.” 

“You’re confident about that,” says Ren. “Done this before?”

“Of course not.” Akechi’s arms are folded. “And I never would have if you hadn’t brought me here for this precise purpose.” 

“Maybe I wasn’t planning on anything,” says Ren. “Yeah. I was… just going to confess, actually. And then we just kind of… ” 

Akechi snorts. “That’s unbelievable for several reasons.”

“Yeah?” says Ren. “Name one.”

“What would someone like _you_ have to confess?” Akechi says darkly. “Who would you even confess _to?”_

_You,_ Ren thinks, and then catches himself thinking that. Catches himself off guard. Huh. What would he confess to Akechi? 

The dialogue of only a handful of minutes ago comes to mind, in sharp focus: _Go on. What exactly did you imagine?_ And Ren’s answer, the one he remembers giving, had been truthful, yes -- he wouldn’t lie to Akechi, particularly not _then_ \-- but the far more honest answer that had welled to mind, one he’d suppressed: well, that was something else, wasn’t it?

_I wanted to call you Goro._ Even now he wants to. And drinking in the sight before him, he wants it all the more. Akechi’s tousled hair and rosy cheeks; his breathing, unsteady, a touch too fast as he hastily reclasps the buttons of his woolen coat; the fragile sternness resettling upon his features, features that Ren wants to reach out and touch.

_He’s beautiful like this. I can’t get enough._

Ren knows better than to say any of this out loud. But he lets himself chant it mentally: _Goro, Goro, Goro._ It sounds nice, he thinks. He thinks about it… often. 

It’s no time for romance. But -- Goro. After this long awful month, after Maruki -- maybe, just maybe, he’ll get the chance.

**Author's Note:**

> yells shuake has come for me in 2020 once more. they're in love baby!
> 
> \- tried hard to think of diff title. couldn't do it  
> \- i've been haunted by the confessional since 2017 [[1]](https://codenamecrow.tumblr.com/post/159574624638/get-in-the-fucking-confessional-akechi) and upon seeing the jan p5r version knew it needed to be done [[2]](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EW5hem7U8AAmZpQ?format=jpg&name=large) like... that smirk is incredible  
> \- i'm on [twitter](http://twitter.com/letrasette) !


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